CHAPTER XXIX. A HERMIT OF THE ST. LAWRENCE.
For some time Ralph floundered and stumbled along the beach in thedirection which he had elected to follow. At length, as he rounded apoint, he caught sudden sight of a light, burning amid a clump ofstunted, dwarfed cedar trees.
"Good!" he exclaimed. "Where there's a light there's a promise, anyhow,of a fire and something to eat. Eat! I've almost forgotten what the wordmeans, and as for sleep----"
Ralph's lips parted in an expansive yawn.
"Oh, for a bed! I could sleep the clock round, I do declare," heconfessed to himself.
With the light as an inspiring goal, he pushed forward vigorously alongthe beach, wondering to himself, meanwhile, if Hansen and Malvin hadreached a place of refuge.
"At any rate, they don't deserve one," he thought. "Their desertion ofme was a base bit of business. If they have to stay out to-night withthe stars for a counterpane and the earth for a cot, I, for one, have nogreat sympathy for them."
In due time he reached the place from which he had perceived the lightshining through the night. So far as he could see, it was arough-looking shanty, built of driftwood and old timbers nailed orfastened together in haphazard fashion. The light was proceeding from asmall window and, peering in through this, Ralph was able to see a veryold man seated at a rough table, apparently repairing a fish net.
"I've heard strange stories about some of these squatters along the St.Lawrence," said the boy to himself, as he hesitated outside the door. "Ihardly know if I ought to knock or not. Suppose this is some maliciouslydisposed old hermit, like that one we met down in Texas?"
He hesitated thus for several minutes; but at last he mustered up theresolution to knock on the door.
He struck a good thundering tattoo with his knuckles, and wasimmediately rewarded by hearing a voice from within. It was querulous,old and cracked. Plainly, it belonged to just such an old man as he hadseen seated at the table when he looked through the window. He was anold, bald-headed, patriarchal-looking man.
Despite the apparent age of the occupant of the lone hut on the St.Lawrence, he looked hale and hearty. Ralph's first view had establishedthis. The old man's skin was pink and clear, his blue eyes bright, andalthough he stooped, he showed traces of having been a well-built,powerful man in his youth.
"Rap! rap! rap!" went Ralph's knuckles again.
Then from within: "Wa'al, what cher want?"
"To see whoever lives here," spoke up Ralph.
"Who are you?"
"A boy that was cast up here to-night on a motor boat that wentaground."
"Wa'al, speak up, can't cher? What cher want?"
"To sleep here to-night and a chance to dry my clothes," replied Ralph,greatly puzzled over the brusqueness of his reception.
"You ain't one of the La Rue gang?"
Ralph's heart gave a leap. What could this venerable old solitary knowof the La Rue gang?
"No, of course I'm not one of the La Rue gang," declared Ralph, in anindignant tone. "If I was I guess I might have better quarters. Open upnow, will you?"
"I'm a-comin'! I'm a-comin'. Gosh all fish hooks, but yer in a tearin'hurry, young fellow."
"So'd you be if you'd gone through a quarter of what I have in the lastfew hours," replied Ralph.
The door was flung open and a lamp held high above the head of theshack's occupant. Seemingly he wanted to make sure of Ralph before headmitted him.
"City, be'ant you?" he asked.
"Well, I've been around in cities a bit," confessed Ralph.
"Oh, well, none the worse for that, I dessay. Come in. You don't look asif you'd bite."
Ralph caught himself recalling some recent moving pictures on board the_River Swallow_.
"Oh, I don't know," rejoined the boy, with a smile he could not control,"just give me something to bite on and I'll see what I can do with it."
The old man set out baked beans and bacon, cold potatoes, cold corn anda piece of soggy pie.
"Fire's done plum give out, er I'd give yer coffee," he saidapologetically.
"Never mind," said Ralph. "I'd rather have water. You get fine waterhere on the----"
He paused an instant to give the old man a chance to speak.
"Island," croaked the veteran, "Castle Island, we calls it on 'count theodd-shaped rocks and stuff."
In this simple manner Ralph ascertained without more ado that he was onan island. This, at least, was a valuable bit of information. It gavehim something to go on.
His host at this point appeared to wake up to the fact that, while hehad been talking pretty freely with his guest, Ralph had not yetunbosomed himself of any of his affairs. The old man's inquiries wereminute.
Ralph told him all of the truth that he thought advisable. Of course hemade no mention of the gems or of the smuggling episodes. To old manWhey, as the old chap said he was to be called, he accounted for hispresence on the island by saying that his motor boat had run aground.
The old man inquired where the accident had taken place, and Ralphquickly placed him in possession of all the details.
"That's nuffin'," declared old man Whey; "we'll have her off there inmighty quick time. Lucky thing you landed in Deer Bay; otherwise you'dhave got in bad waters. If you are lying where I think you are, you cancome pretty nigh gettin' off under your own power."
It had already become clear that old man Whey knew the river like abook. To Ralph it appeared that here was a good man to tie to.
"If you'll help me get my boat off in the morning, and we succeed infloating her, I'll give you whatever you choose to take for yourservices."
The old man exploded.
"Sho, boy! Kain't I do a good turn ter my neebor?" he asked. "Pay me,indeed! My fishing and the work I do for the cottagers once in a whilegives me all I want. Pay me, indeed! Git right into that bunk now. Sleepyour head off. I'll call you when I'm ready in the morning."
Ralph was nothing loath to turn in on the rough sleeping shelf assignedto him. But before closing his eyes he thrust the wallet containing thegems under his pillow.
"It'll be safe there," he muttered drowsily to himself.
But in the morning when he awakened the wallet with its fortune in gemswas gone.
And also among the missing was old man Whey.
The Border Boys Along the St. Lawrence Page 30